


call you the morning light

by hamilton_taylorklaine



Category: Bollywood Movies, Kalank (2019)
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It, Marriage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 09:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18688333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamilton_taylorklaine/pseuds/hamilton_taylorklaine
Summary: AU: Zafar survives the Partition riots and escapes Husnabad with Roop.Fix-it fic





	call you the morning light

**Author's Note:**

> For my wife Alina, who saw Kalank three times in theaters, cried every single time, and yet somehow managed to keep spoilers from me so I could let this movie rip my heart out and destroy my life on my own terms.
> 
> Love you lots.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I am Caucasian and, outside of the movies, know very little of Indian history and culture. I did some research, but I apologize for any inaccuracies.
> 
> Title from Hurt Nobody by Andrew Belle. Rated T for brief non-explicit sexual content.

**** Her hand is small in his, but it is so strong. Her grip is iron, practically yanking Zafar’s arm out of his socket as she pulls him closer to the entryway of the train. His muscles ache, scream at him to slow down and take a break as he continues to run. She is desperate for his safety, and her eyes light up with hope now that their hands are locked.

Her hand, tight in his, is the difference between safety and destruction, between happiness and despair, between life and death. He will not let go of her.

A few more times, he has to dodge the attacks of the Muslims, still angry and betrayed. It’s understandable. But Zafar’s body is pressed against the outside of the train, and Roop’s arm is bent, her white clothing blowing in the wind and ticking the exposed skin of Zafar’s arm. She leans just a little bit forward, and Zafar leaps up, and they come together, and finally, Zafar is on the train.

Roop shoves him further in, presses his back against the wall, and she’s right there next to him, arms touching. Seconds later, she sinks down to the floor, knees up near her chest, eyes wide in fear, and Zafar slides down with her. Slowly, she turns, peering out just beyond the edge of the doorway. The fire continues to burn and the violence rages on, but the train is getting faster and the aggressors are getting farther away and failing to catch up with them. She can see bodies on the platform, the bloodshed, but they stumble with their swords as they try to follow them up on the moving vehicle. And before Roop even realizes, the train picks up to its full speed and the concrete is gone beneath them, the station eventually becoming a faint glow in the distance.

Violently shaking, she turns back inside, processing. The bodies inside the train are numerous and almost stacked on top of each other, but these ones are alive and moving. They close in on her as they look for their families and loved ones, and Roop folds further into herself, turning her head to the side as someone runs by and nearly tramples her.

That’s when she remembers the body next to her. Zafar.

Almost not believing it, her eyes slowly travel up his body to his face, his eyes that are glittering in the lamplight as they watch her, unwavering. His clothes and skin are matted with ash and dirt and dried blood. His breathing is heavy, ragged, and uneven. He is probably exhausted, starving, in extreme pain. But his eyes continue to shine, and there is the faintest of smiles on his face, as if she is the only thing that matters to him.

He is here.

They are together.

They are free.

This is how Dev finds them sometime later, curled into each other on the floor, Roop’s arms locked tight around Zafar’s torso, crying hysterically into his shoulder, Zafar holding her just as tight, rocking her back and forth, whispering into her hair.

When they arrive in Amritsar in the morning, Roop will not let go of Zafar’s hand, much to Balraj’s chagrin. Dev doesn’t seem to mind, to her relief. He even comes to their defense, Zafar’s defense, when Balraj threatens to throw him on the street.

“Father, he saved us!” he shouts as Balraj throws abuses at his other son. And it’s almost like a movie, the way everything stops.

“He saved us,” Dev says again, quieter. “Zafar fought off the protestors while we were boarding the train. None of us would be alive right now if it weren’t for him. Please, let him rest, let him stay in a warm house, in a comfortable bed.”

“You think I will let that homewrecker into my house as a reward for one good deed?” Balraj starts again. “Look at them!” He motions to Zafar and Roop, who have gravitated closer to each other, Roop’s other hand lightly resting on Zafar’s chest.

“She already cares for him too much, even more so now that he’s somehow managed to escape the violence. And she’s your wife, Dev! You are inviting this man into your home just so he can steal her from right under your nose. Is this what you want? Your marriage destroyed, ripped into pieces?”

Some kind of quiet anger comes from Dev then, contained, but blazing. “My marriage broke the day we learned Satya was sick. Roop is a salve to my broken heart, but not a bandage. I care for her deeply, but from the moment we met, I have never once expected love from her. If she has taken her love somewhere else, to someone who can return it to her in spades, that is her choice. But Bahaar Begum stayed in Husnabad with her girls. There’s no chance she survived. The least you could do is honor a dying woman’s wish and care for her son, for  _ your _ son.”

He remains composed as he walks inside. Balraj stares at a space on the ground, hands behind his back, while Roop and Zafar remain frozen. There is nothing but the soft breeze in the air. Eventually, Balraj turns around and goes inside the house silently. Roop and Zafar wait until he’s inside before they follow.

Balraj gives them possibly the quickest tour in human history of the house. He guides Dev and Roop through their suite, and haphazardly points in the direction of a spare room where Zafar can stay. Zafar, still a little emotional from the intensity of the riots and somehow making it out alive, bristles at his father’s cold nature. But the older man is gone, leaving the three alone in Dev and Roop’s spacious room.

“Well, I should probably leave you two alone,” Dev says simply, heading for the doorway.

“But this is your room,” Roop responds in confusion after a beat. Zafar makes a note of how she didn’t say “our room.”

“According to my father, it is.” He turns around. “What he fails to understand is that we are all adults who are capable of deciding our own living arrangements. And if I want to switch rooms with Zafar, that is my decision to make, not his.” He braces his hands on the doorframe and turns to his brother. “Would you want to switch, Zafar? Is that okay?”

Zafar is horribly confused, but the prospect of sharing a room, sharing a  _ bed _ with Roop is so overwhelming and inviting that he would be a fool not to take it. He nods.

“Great!” Dev says cheerfully, as if this was nothing more than a business exchange. “See you two.”

The closing of the door echoes through the room, and suddenly, they are alone.

Roop laughs once in disbelief, and Zafar finally looks at her. She’s shaking her head, holding the bridge of her nose with two fingers, then brushes her hair out of her eyes as she looks back up. Her gaze, as it holds Zafar’s, is heavy.

“He’s a good man, Dev,” she says gently. “He understands. He’s understood since the beginning.”

Zafar can only stare.

“I care for him,” she continues when Zafar doesn’t speak. “He knows that. And he cares for me. But I don’t love him, and he knows that. I can’t, not when I…” She trails off, looking at her feet. “He doesn’t love me either. And that’s okay. Now that I…” She looks back up at him. “Have...you…” She speaks so slowly, carefully, but Zafar is still unable to say anything.

“I don’t know how this will work.” The silence is unbearable. “I don’t know what will happen. Dev is my husband, and I have to respect that, and I will, but he knows how I feel about you, and clearly he is willing to look past duties and responsibilities for the sake of my happiness. And you are my happiness, Zafar.” She dares a step closer. “It seems everyone in the country knows that. And I want to be with you, and I think I can, I think we can be together, and nothing makes sense, none of this is normal, but I just…” She trails off again, looking at him with so much emotion. “Zafar, I...will you…”

And he understands everything she’s saying, everything she isn’t saying. Balraj, maybe not as much, but Dev is certainly willing to look the other way and let Zafar spend more time with Roop, strengthen their relationship, fall deeper in love with her than he already is. He wants her, a future with her, even if the logistics of it are tricky right now, he can only survive if she is in his life, if she loves him the same way he loves her.

She doesn’t know he loves her. She asked, and he never told her, he never gave her that one small thing. And so it all explodes out of him,

“Roop, I love you” are the first words out of his mouth. Simple, real, unadorned. She seems floored, and Zafar feels like a runaway train, unable to stop.

“Roop, I love you.” Again. “I love you, I love you so much, I’m so desperately in love with you I don’t know what to do, I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, I need to be with you, I need to be able to hold you and kiss you and touch you for the rest of my life, I need you to tell me you love me just as much as you needed me to back in Husnabad, I’m sorry I didn’t before, I was scared, I was so scared I was going to lose you, that telling you how I felt would make it real, and making it real meant I could lose it, I could lose you, and I can’t lose you, Roop, I couldn’t live, I wouldn’t be able to survive without you, without your love, I feel like I’m going crazy, I’ve never felt so much for one person, but Roop, I love you, I will tell you every single day, a hundred times a day if you want me to, anything you want, I just need you to trust me, to be with me, to love me in this same wild, insane way that I love you, and I know you do, I just…”

He doesn’t even realize she’s crying until the words stop. Her shoulders shake, her body is racked with sobs, and he runs to her, holds her flush against him, and she clings to him, hands fisting his tunic.

“Zafar,” she cries into his shoulder, her voice breaking. “I love you so much. Please...will you…”

“I am here,” he says quietly into her hair. “I am with you. I will be with you. You have me. I’m yours.”

“I’m yours…” she repeats back to him, meaning it wholeheartedly. She can’t get more than that out as her wails become more violent, her emotions breaking out of her in harsh noises and a strong grip. Sadness, relief, guilt, love, Zafar can’t put a finger on any one single feeling she is experiencing. Maybe all of it. But it overtakes her, her knees buckling, and Zafar gently guides her to sit on the floor, never letting go of her.

Someone must have come in at some point. Her cries surely echoed through the whole house, there must be someone else who cares enough about her to see what was wrong. Zafar’s not sure. Zafar doesn’t really care. Her face is tucked into his neck, her arms secure around his waist, his hands stroking her back, her hair, whispering “I love you” to her over and over and over again, and every time he says it, he can feel her heart beat faster, feel her tears dry just a fraction, swears he can see a smile beginning to spread on her face, and the morning sunlight streams through their window, a reminder of hope and light and love and the future, their future, and everything will be okay.

The steel mills have not made their way to Amritsar yet, so Zafar is able to get a job in a blacksmith shop. Roop finds work in a combination printing press and newspaper publication. She doesn’t work for the Chaudhry’s, after much deliberation and arguing with her father-in-law. He gave her the job in Husnabad as a favor, she reminds him. In Amritsar, she will stand on her own two feet.

Dev just watches from the sidelines, smiling in mischief, and in awe of his wife.

Life is as normal as it can be for a while. Roop is only taken somewhat seriously at work, but this, unfortunately, was expected. Zafar’s shop is a reasonable distance away from the press, but still can be somewhat of a hassle to get to on foot. She doesn’t want to make a habit of visiting him, though. People already seem to know the Chaudhry’s, that she’s Dev’s wife, and there are whispers of rumors of their situation as she passes by. She brushes it off, knowing she comes home to the truth.

Home, though, is a different kind of stiff and uncomfortable. The entire staff knows of Roop’s relationship with Zafar. They probably even know about the room switch, but no one acknowledges it. No one acknowledges their relationship. Something in Roop’s gut tells her that Zafar still isn’t treated like an equal. But she also knows there isn’t much, if anything she can do about it.

Meals are tense. Dev and Balraj talk business most of the time. Roop and Zafar are respectfully asked about their days, their jobs, their opinions on the town, the current state of affairs. More so by Dev than Balraj. The older man is respectful to Roop, but hardly acknowledges Zafar’s existence aside from asking him to pass a napkin. So the lovers have their own quiet conversation, whispered across the table under the complicated economics talk going on around them. They share small smiles over their plates of soup, and they feel like a family until Balraj watches them intensely, silently demanding their conversation end before picking back up with what he was saying.

Things are good when they are alone. Roop and Zafar talk about everything, from clothes and food and jobs, to politics and religion and love, and what it all means. Roop teaches Zafar some of the games she played as a child, she teaches him music and what she knows of dance. Zafar buys records and plays them on a record player he found in the closet, and teaches Roop what he knows of dance, which is mostly just leading her around the room, spinning her, and lifting her off the ground while she laughs giddily.

And they kiss. God, do they kiss. That’s the best part. Zafar keeps his beard tame, but it still scratches as his lips move across her skin. He is always a little surprised when he pulls back from her and sees her face bright red, not just from the joy but from the burn of him against her. She doesn’t mind. She loves the way it feels, loves to think about it even when he is not with her, loves the way even thinking about it makes her stomach flip over, makes her chest tighten, makes her body go warm and a little damp. Sometimes it’s not appropriate, yes, she knows. She only allows a small smile to herself, a secret. She still has some class.

But when they are alone, when he touches her face, her hair, her waist, it’s as if she’s free. It’s as if all other people on earth don’t matter, don’t even exist. They keep their clothes on, and he never pressures her, but they lie next to each other in the evening and simply hold each other. His arms are strong around her, protective. His hair is soft, his shoulders broad, chest taut. He is sensitive when she plays with his earrings, always shivering in delight when she does it, always making her giggle.

The only bit of pleasure she will allow herself is when he wears low-cut, V-neck kurtas that expose his chest. She lets herself gently touch his chest with her pointer finger, feeling the hard muscle, the spatterings of hair. He always grins down at her mischievously, an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer. She giggles, embarrassed, and buries her face in his neck, but he just kisses her forehead, her cheeks, and gently her lips, and they sink back into the plush sheets and forget the world for a little while longer.

It’s when Balraj begins to talk of grandchildren that their already fragile existence begins to crack.

Roop doesn’t even try to defend herself--as a woman, Balraj won’t hear it. Zafar and Dev do, though, Dev remaining composed as he talks to his father about his decision in the matter of children as well, while Zafar explodes about Roop having autonomy over her own body and how Balraj should mind his own business. “His grandchildren are his business” is actually a good explanation, but it doesn’t stop Zafar from going on a tirade every time the topic is brought up.

And it’s not like Balraj listens anyway. As usual, the only one in the house he has an ounce of respect for is Dev. In protest, Dev starts to somewhat avoid Roop, which only makes Balraj angrier, but he takes this anger out on Roop, not Dev, and as a result, she leans into Zafar even more. He is blindly supportive of her abstinence, not just because it’s an advantage for him, but because no one should be poked and prodded and controlled like this. She fists his shirt in her hands late into the night, as if he’s the only good thing she has anymore, and maybe there’s a hard truth in that. He holds her, strokes her hair, whispers sweet nothings to her as the anxiety and fear causes her to stare blankly at the wall, hold her breath, cry softly against him.

It’s borderline abuse, and the one who ends up doing something about it is, as expected, Dev. But he takes Roop into a room alone, not Balraj. Zafar almost doesn’t want to let her be alone with him. But they are in Dev’s office, and Dev has enough respect for Roop and for himself not to complete the act here. Instead, he sits in his big chair, folding his hands, while Roop stands near the bookcase, nervous.

“I want to apologize on behalf of my father for the way you’ve been treated these past few months,” Dev starts gently. “No one deserves to be mistreated in such a way, especially not you, especially over something so personal and sensitive.”

Roop’s shoulders shake in dark laughter. “It would mean more if those words came from his mouth instead of yours.”

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen,” he teases lightly. “But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my having a child with you. I don’t want to give you that burden. I don’t even want…” He sighs, looking at his hands for a moment before looking back up. “Your love for Zafar is no secret. He is your source of comfort, of joy. And you are his. You both deserve that, with each other. I shouldn’t be a part of that anymore, and I don’t wish to be.”

Roop furrows her eyebrows. “What are you saying?”

Dev sits up straighter. “What I mean is, in all the chaos of everyone so preoccupied with your lack of being pregnant, I did some research, asked some questions, and found someone who is willing to legally and spiritually end our marriage.”

Roop’s eyes widen. “That’s possible?” And then, more hesitantly, “You would do that?”

Dev leans forward, elbows resting on the desk in front of him. “You are not happy here. That also is no longer a secret. The only time you get happiness here is when you are alone with Zafar. You two deserve a life together, without overbearing old men and responsibilities to people you don’t even care for.”

“But I do care for you,” she protests, finally taking a step closer.

“I know, and I you. I care for you so much that I want to let you go, I want you to be free of the shackles of this place, free to be with your love without anyone looking down their nose at you.”

There’s an empty chair in front of Dev’s desk. Roop sits carefully and lays her hand over Dev’s still folded ones. “What about Satya? What about the promises we made to her? What will you do? You deserve happiness too.”

He smiles. “My true happiness and full capacity for love died the day Satya did. I accepted this a long time ago. You are kind and compassionate, and I feel for you dearly and deeply, but it pales in comparison to the way I feel for Satya. I won’t ever find that again, I know that.” He unfolds his hands and takes Roop’s. “But you did with Zafar. And if I have anything to say about it, you won’t lose him. You don’t deserve to lose your love the way I lost mine.” He sighs. “I’ve made peace with my fate. I want to help you seal yours.”

Roop smiles, a little teary eyed, and lays her other hand over her husband’s. She can’t say that for much longer, and there’s a strange lightness in her heart when she realizes this.

“When will this take place? Where? What do I need to do?” She freezes. “And what about Balraj?”

Dev laughs. She was always half a step ahead of him. “Tomorrow. You can dress up if you’d like, but nothing too fancy. My father believes that we are going together to speak to a doctor about your fertility and our options for conception.”

She bristles in disgust at the invasive language, and they share a laugh.

“I love you,” she says quietly after a beat. “It’s not romantic, I don’t think. But Dev, in spite of everything, I want you to know that I do love you. Not did. Do.”

He smiles, lifts their joined hands, and kisses hers. “I love you too, Roop. Not romantically. And not did. Do.”

She sleeps peacefully on Zafar’s chest for the first time in days. When she leaves with Dev the next morning, Balraj is there, so she has no choice but to lie about where she’s going, and there’s a heavy ache in her chest as she says this. Zafar looks angry, hurt. But her hands are tied, and she leaves with her husband for the last time.

They never recovered their marriage certificate from Husnabad, it’s probably a pile of ash, so the documents, the legal side of it is easy. The ceremonial, religious aspect of it is more awkward, more painful emotionally. Roop feels tears in her eyes as the chants now separate them when they were so united. But she knows it’s for the best. He is doing this for her. They are doing this for each other.

She feels lighter when they walk out of the office. The pair can’t help but embrace, can’t help but laugh in relief.

“Now what?” she breathes out.

“Now I think I have to go tell my father about what just happened. But you shouldn’t be there for that.” He lays a hand on her arm. “You should probably go find Zafar and tell him the truth. God knows he was furious with us when we left this morning.”

She laughs, a bright smile finally creeping its way onto her face and hugs him again. They walk in opposite directions, and Roop realizes the blacksmith shop is only a few streets away. Turning around, Dev has disappeared into the crowd, and she lifts her skirt, breaking into a run, laughing madly to herself. She dodges all the people, nearly bumping into them, nearly knocking over carts of fruit and juice and jewelry. But she doesn’t care. Zafar’s shop is around the corner, at the end of the street, and she calls his name loudly, her feet flying even faster as the sign comes into view, so close she can read it.

A man steps beyond the open entrance of the shop, watching her with hands on hips as she skids to a halt in front of him.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he says. Roop can feel herself hunching forward a bit as she catches her breath. She probably looks crazy.

“Zafar,” she says breathlessly, brushing the hair from her face. She stands on her toes, peering over the man’s shoulder. “I need to talk to Zafar.”

“Ma’am, if you would like to place an order, you can talk to a consultant in the front office.” He moves in front of her in an attempt to block her. “You can’t go back near the furnace, it’s not allowed.”

But she’s not listening. As she dances from side to side in front of this businessman, she spots him. Zafar, her love, her shining light, is back there, sculpting metal with fire, pounding it into shape. He isn’t wearing a shirt, his perfectly sculpted torso glimmering with sweat and dirt. The loud striking of the hammer is nothing compared to the ringing in her ears, the music in her heart, the agitation as she tries to get to him.

“Please?” she says, resting back on flat feet. “Two minutes, it’s very important.”

“You can file a complaint with the clerk if necessary, you do not need to talk to the maker directly.” Now he’s getting agitated, and so is she.

“I’m not here to file a complaint!” she shouts in a huff. “I just need to talk to Zafar! It’s a personal matter, and it doesn’t concern you! Let me see him!”

By this point, many of the other workers have picked up on this insane woman demanding to talk to their newest employee. When Zafar stops his work for a moment to take a breath, one of the other blacksmiths nudges him on the shoulder and tilts his head towards the street. He turns--the owner of the shop is arguing with a woman in the doorway, nothing new. Zafar curls his lip in confusion.

“She wants to see you. Boss won’t let her. She’s going mad.” The other blacksmith laughs, but this just perplexes Zafar even more, so he takes a few steps closer.

“If you would like to wait, I can pull him aside on his break, but it’s too dangerous for you to go back there,” his boss is saying.

“This is urgent!” the woman yells, practically stamping her foot like a petulant child. “You need to let me talk to Zafar now!”

He recognizes that desperation, that fire. His heart soars.

“Roop!” he calls with a smile. Both Roop and the owner turn to him.

“You  _ do _ know this woman?” the owner asks. But Zafar can’t answer. Roop is exploding with happiness, and it’s magnetic.

“Zafar!” she shouts in delight, finally maneuvering around the man and running full speed at Zafar, launching herself into his arms. He lifts her clean off the ground and spins her around, her laughter right in his ear. There is slight hesitation in his hold of her--his arms are secure around her waist, but he still wonders why she’s here, what could possibly be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tonight.

“Miss Roop,” the owner huffs, coming up to them as he sets her down. “No personal matter can be this important for you to be back here. Trust me. It’s too dangerous.”

“No,  _ you _ trust  _ me _ ,” Roop snaps, angling towards him. Her hands rest lightly against Zafar’s shoulders, and his settle on her hips, protective. “The details of my history with Zafar are none of your business. But I love him, and he loves me, and I lied to him about where my husband and I went this morning, and this guilt needs to be taken care of. The truth needs to be known.”

“Your husband?” the owner asks, bewildered. He shakes his head. Maybe he heard wrong. “I’m sure no secret about your husband is too great to endanger yourself and your...Zafar.”

“But that’s just it. That man is not my husband anymore. So none of this,” she waves a hand in front of the owner’s face. “These kinds of reactions won’t happen anymore. And we,” she motions to her and Zafar, who are still locked together. “Can have some kind of a normal life together. That starts now.”

But Zafar stopped listening. His ears were ringing at “he’s not my husband anymore” and everything else became unimportant. How is she not married anymore? What happened to Dev? Where did she go? What did they do?

He pulls her hips so they are flush against his own, and her upper body snaps back around to face him. He is looking at her with wild, shocked eyes.

“You’re not...married…” He can’t seem to finish the sentence, repeat what he just heard. She grins and presses her hands against his face. Dev had taken back the ring, or maybe she had given it back, but Zafar can’t tell from this close, can’t figure it out from the way his head is still spinning. He just laughs as she pokes and prods at his face before pulling them back slowly and spreading her fingers to show the lack of evidence.

“How is that possible?” he says finally, in breathless disbelief.

“I don’t know, but it is. We signed papers, we performed a ritual. We couldn’t provide any documents to prove that we were married in the first place, they were all burned in the riots. But we did it anyway. Dev did it, it was his idea.” She holds his face firmly. “He did this for us.” Her hands slide around Zafar’s head to link her fingers at the back of his neck. “And now we can be together. And I don’t know what will happen or how we will move forward from here, I just want to be with you, and now we  _ can _ . We can have everything. The world is in front of us, Zafar, and I want to grab it, but I want to grab it with you.” She looks at him with a lovesick, dreamy smile now. And it feels like a dream, too sweet and full of promise to be real. But her fingers now play with the ends of his hair, and he sways on his feet just a bit. She is solid and real in his arms, and the ground could fall out from underneath their feet, could swallow them whole, and it would be the happiest way to go because she is with him. Completely.

“Oh, and Dev is going to tell his father, so you don’t have to worry about that,” she adds matter-of-factly, and the smile that spreads on Zafar’s face could light a nation, it’s so bright, and he can’t help but sweep her up and kiss her right there in the middle of the shop.

She smiles against his mouth as she holds him just as close, but it doesn’t last very long before the owner is smacking their arms and shoulders and practically pushing them apart, making sputtering noises of shock and disgust.

“I support your love story, but don’t let it play out here!” he shouts. And the pair feel like they’ve suddenly been yanked back into the real world, the clang of metal and the smell of smoke overpowering, and they awkwardly let go of each other. The owner finally leaves in a huff.

“I should probably go to work,” Roop says finally, hands folded behind her back. “They’ll be asking about me, I’m sure.” She looks up at Zafar again through her eyelashes, smiling. “I’ll see you at home.” She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, lifts her skirt, and is off, gone as quickly as she came.

Zafar stares at the empty space where she just was. He holds his cheek and smiles like a schoolboy with a crush. He thanks God, the lucky stars in the sky that his life took such a drastic upturn. He doesn’t move from his spot until he’s roughly shoved in the shoulder by another blacksmith, Zafar’s tough exterior returning, and he goes back inside.

But he spends the rest of the day fashioning her a ring. After the events of the morning and how they seem to have affected him, no one nags him too much for his lack of productivity for the business. And he knows this is what he wants. Her. He wants her, he wants to call her his, he wants to promise to her under the eyes of God, of Allah, that he will always care for her and protect her and love her in every single life they share together, should they be so lucky. He is lucky enough to have her once. He would reach enlightenment if he was able to have her again.

He makes the ring as intricate as he can. They don’t have jewels, so he compensates by tracing designs into the steel, swirling patterns that connect around the circumference, almost looking like leaves, like the braid of Roop’s hair that she often wears. In small spaces, he can fits words. Love. Hope. Music. Her name. His name. Beloved.  _ Meri jaan _ . He’s amazed he has the tools and the skill for this kind of detail. And when he’s done, he’s satisfied, incredibly proud of himself.

At least until he leaves and passes a real jewelry shop with so many things that blow Zafar’s creation out of the water.

They are all shiny silver, gold, platinum, with jewels so bright and twinkly that the light reflecting off of them almost blinds him. He can’t help but be drawn to them, laid out on velvet, like they need to be comfortable. His mind races with the same thoughts of “what if she rejects me” that had been swimming in his head since he started this project, now topped with “what if she doesn’t like it, what if she turns me down  _ because _ she doesn’t like it?”

Out of fear, out of impulse, or as a backup, he’s not sure which, he buys a simple thin silver band with a shining diamond in the center. He asks for a slightly larger box to hold both rings, as he had simply been keeping his own in his pocket. He’ll decide when the time comes. Or maybe she can decide. That might ease the uncertainty a bit.

He’s still tense as he walks into the house--still not his house. It doesn’t feel like it, even after months. Roop is overjoyed to see him. And Dev is always cordial, always looks as if there is nowhere else he would rather be than where he is. Balraj, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. As expected, according to Dev, things got pretty heated when he learned of the end of his and Roop’s marriage and what had transpired this morning. He didn’t take it well. No one was hurt physically, but he refuses to interact with the rest of the family. Or what’s left of his family, as he apparently put it. Zafar doesn’t want to know if he’s included in that. He doesn’t really care.

Balraj doesn’t even come out for dinner, demands he eats alone in his office. Everyone lets him be dramatic and childish about it--this is the most enjoyable meal the three of them have had in a long time. Roop and Zafar are free to hold hands across the table and no one bats an eyelash. And when they retire for the night, it’s as if the weight of the entire world is gone. As soon as the door closes, Roop folds herself into Zafar’s arms.

“You know I don’t care what Balraj thinks, right?” she whispers. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks about us. I love you. And now I have you. And that’s all that matter.”

Zafar smiles, sighing as he runs his hands over her back, burying his face into her neck. The weight of the box is heavy in his pocket.

“Roop, there’s something I need to ask you,” he breathes before he loses the nerve. He can feel her tense up against him, and she pulls away from him with confused and concerned eyes. He spreads a hand out towards the bed, and she carefully sits, him perching on the edge next to her.

“I love you,” he starts, and she smiles gently. “I love you so much. You’re my entire world, you’re everything, you mean everything to me.” There is so much inside of him that he doesn’t know how to make sense of it all, how to tell her everything. He just slides the box out of his pocket.

“And I know you and Dev just ended your marriage,” He is looking at his fingers as they clutch the box, but out of his peripheral vision, he can see her eyebrows go up, her eyes get wide, her hands fold at her chest. He can see her eyes darting between him and the box before finally settling on his face. He slowly lifts his gaze.

“Is that for me?” she chokes out. Her voice cracks repeatedly, her hands begin to shake, he can see her eyes begin to water, and he almost wants to back out of the whole thing, doesn’t want to make her cry any more than he already has. But with shaking fingers of his own, he pries the box open.

“Roop, my love, my life, my light, will you marry me?”

Her eyes screw shut, her hands fly up to cover her mouth, and she folds into herself, leaning forward so her chest is practically against her knees, shoulders shaking in quiet sobs. He rubs her back soothingly, hushing her, but she’s also nodding frantically. She suddenly shoots back up straight and wipes her face, now strewn with tears, and she’s still nodding but smiling.

“Yes,” she says, and the smile that explodes onto Zafar’s face could rival the sun.

“Yes?” he repeats, most of his brain and heart not even believing it. But now Roop is laughing, even though there are still tears streaming down her face, and Zafar is laughing too, and she launches herself into his arms, practically knocking him over, holding tight.

“Yes!” she shouts in delight, in the most pure form of joy Zafar has ever heard. One hand snakes around her hips to hold her close, the other still keeps the box steady on his lap.

“Yes,” she says again, now in a whisper. “A million times. In a million lives, in a million different versions of ourselves, I will marry you every single time.”

Zafar breathes out and smiles against her skin. They hold each other for what feels like a long time.

“Zafar?” she finally asks quietly.

“Hmm?” he responds, relaxed for what might possibly be the first time in his life.

“Why are there two rings?”

He laughs in open surprise, and they detach themselves from each other. He wipes at his face, his own cheeks now suddenly wet.

“I couldn’t decide,” he explains. It’s not a complete lie. “I thought you would want to pick.”

She just laughs. “Every girl dreams of getting one ring, and you give me two. You must have spent a fortune.”

“For you, it’s worth it.” Again, not a complete lie.

She purses her lips and strokes her chin in exaggerated thought, as if this is the most important decision she will ever make. She takes the steel ring first, trying it on, rotating her hand around, examining it. She does the same with the silver ring, and she goes back and forth a couple of times, but to Zafar, it feels endless. Once, when she goes back to the steel ring, something changes in her face. Zafar can’t place it, but she looks at the ring this time for longer, something akin to wonder and amazement settling in her eyes. Then she smiles in satisfaction and closes the box, putting it off to the side. She cups Zafar’s face and kisses his lips gently, wraps her arms around his neck and holds him close again. He can feel the cold steel of the ring as she moves her hands across his skin. It’s like he was burned, the way the ghost of her movements linger on his body.

“I love it,” she says with a smile, settling against him. “This one. This is my ring.” Her ringed hand slides into his hair, and he can feel it catch on the ends, and oh God, this hits his chest differently than he expected it to. He wraps her arms around her slowly, in disbelief that she chose  _ his _ ring. He can feel his jaw going slack but she just hums against him, content.

“Where did you get them?” she asks, pulling back suddenly. She holds up her hand to show him. “This one especially, it’s crafted so beautifully.”

“That’s because I made it,” he says quickly, a surge of confidence returning to him. Roop pulls her head back and looks at him in shock. He just looks at her with mischief in his eyes, a grin settling on his lips.

“Are you lying?” she asks, accusing, and Zafar’s expression goes soft as he shakes his head.

“I started it as soon as you left this morning. I worked on it all day.”

Roop remains motionless for a few long moments, a quiet, restrained “you” slipping out before she smacks him on the arm.

“Ow!” he shouts, holding his tricep where she hit him. But she launches herself at him again.

“I didn’t want you to spend a fortune on me, I didn’t want you to spend anything on me, you didn’t have to,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “And you didn’t. You made something for me instead. With your time, your sweat, your bare hands.” She buries her nose further into his neck, holding him tighter. “And that’s so much better.”

Zafar’s arms come back around her waist, holding her just as tight, so much so that they end up tipping over onto the bed, laughing in surprise.

Balraj closes in on himself even more when he finds out. He wants absolutely nothing to do with Zafar nor Roop anymore, practically wants to throw them out onto the streets. This is all according to the staff. Neither have seen Balraj since Roop ended her marriage with Dev.

Dev, on the other hand, is overjoyed for his former wife. He helps them look for their own home in the city, helps them organize and plan the wedding, convinces them to even have a normal wedding ceremony in the first place. Or as normal as they can possibly have. Without their real families being there, the two simply go through the motions, still overjoyed about the whole thing, but they both know something is missing, and there is nothing either can do about it.

Still, all the functions beforehand are warm and bright. The music is high, and the few people who attend dance and sing and have a good time. There is a joy on Zafar’s face as the drums beat that Roop has seen only so much. She stands for a moment in the madness and watches him, and when he meets her eyes and beckons her to come and dance with him, her anxiety completely disappears, and she can feel it in the tips of her toes that everything was worth it.

A friend from work does Roop’s mehendi. It’s impressively intricate, and it dries a deep, rich red. Zafar doesn’t even try to look for his name. He knows they will treat each other as equals. And he knows it’s there, he knows his name has been drawn into her skin, and she will let it sink into her soul, where it will stay until the end of time.

There aren’t many people at the ceremony either, but everyone who attends cries, including the bride and groom. Roop is draped in red, gold jewelry adorning her all over, Zafar radiant in an innocent ivory. Dev is there, too, and by sheer force, dragged Balraj with him. He grumbles in a corner the whole time, but Zafar thinks he can see a wet shine to his eyes towards the end. Maybe it’s the flames.

It’s all over so quickly. The flowers, the necklace, the walking together, they do it in a daze, it all feels like a dream. None of it feels like reality until Zafar, with shaking hands, applies the sindoor to her forehead, and she almost breaks down completely at the touch of his fingers against her bare skin. She sobs openly, probably ruining her eyeliner and mascara, but she doesn’t, can’t worry about that right now. Everyone is aww-ing and cooing at the adorable bride, but Zafar can’t stop himself from laughing quietly, cupping her face, kissing the space in between her eyes. She can feel new wetness on her cheeks from him, leftover powder shading her chin. Yes, this is real, this is all real.

Their home is small, a one floor apartment a few stories above a samosa shop. Roop can smell the oil as she leans out the window, waiting for Zafar in the most wonderful anticipation she’s ever felt. Finally she sees him, walking towards the door, holding his turban under his arm. He looks up towards her window and spots her, smiling brightly. She can see the kajal still lining his eyes.

She blames the sudden heat she feels on the cooking going on downstairs.

It feels like centuries before Zafar arrives in their home ( _ their home _ ) and into their bedroom ( _ their bedroom _ ) where Roop waits, less patient as time passes. He pauses in the doorway, admiring her otherworldly beauty before setting the turban down on a side table. His eyes never leave her, and she blushes, covering her face with her veil. But Zafar can see right through her act, knows she is putting on airs, knows she is just playing the part of a blushing bride for him. Why, though, he wonders? She has no reason to pretend around him anymore.

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, through the thin red material, shaking as he comes even closer to her, as she pushes herself away from the window sill and takes a step towards him. When he is right in front of her, so close to her, he’s still watching her, admiring her. He slowly traces a finger over the edge of her veil, and her hands slide off the material, dropping to her sides. Carefully, he takes it and uncovers her head, letting the material fall. After a moment, he motions to his nose with a finger. Confused, Roop touches her own nose, and then she understands. The nose ring. It’s fairly large and covers most of the center of her face. She laughs quietly and gently takes it out, unhooking the chain from her hair, and setting the jewelry down. Zafar still smiles softly, and he reaches around to remove the band securing her hair in its bun. He is slow, gentle, watches in awe as her brown tresses spill out in waves down her back. He drops the band to the floor and combs his fingers through her hair, spreading it out, lightly settling it over her shoulders.

She breathes evenly, her eyes full of love and adoration, desire coursing through her veins, but a soft smile on her face, in her eyes. She is so beautiful. He is so lucky.

His kisses taste of smoke and iron. There is a scar near his mouth from the riots that still hasn’t fully healed yet. He is too gentle with her as his hands reach her waist, the heavy beaded material of her skirt, and she is desperate for him to be close to her. But the sounds from downstairs fall silent, the oil smell fades, replaced by Zafar, his natural essence, his aura, his strength, his love. There is no time, no responsibilities, no expectations, no society telling them this is wrong. This is right, the most right Roop has ever been in her life. Nothing exists except for him. Nothing matters except for this.

They make love with slow passion. It’s awkward and hesitant at times, but it is deep and meaningful, their bodies connecting as mere vessels for their souls to fuse as one. Roop finally lets herself slide her hands across Zafar’s chest, his back, into his hair. When she plays with his earrings this time, he still shivers, but he growls and presses his mouth harder against her neck. She still giggles, and her laughter turns into quiet moans as his beard scratches her sensitive skin, as his hardness meets her softness, as they move together in rhythm, in perfect harmony.

It’s different from Dev. He was careful, always careful, but always rigid, always stiff. Roop never felt like he was loving her. Zafar, on the other hand, has nothing but love for her. And he is careful, sure. But there is still a wild abandon in the way he touches her, kisses her everywhere he can reach, as if he is memorizing her, cherishing her, worshipping her. As if he will never get another opportunity to be with her like this again, when they both know that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Dev loved her as if it was his duty. Zafar loves her as if it is his privilege.

They hold each other when it’s over, after the pleasure has coursed through them and built itself up and exploded out of them, leaving behind naked, sweaty bodies and hot, heavy breath. Roop experiences a different kind of heat after a while, when she suddenly finds herself back on the train out of Husnabad, the fire in the station pressing against her like a wall. Zafar is fighting off the resistance, and Dev is somewhere in the cabin, but the train begins to move, and Roop leans out of the doorway, shouting for Zafar to come.

He drops his weapon and runs along the side of the train, Roop now with her hand outstretched towards him, yelling for him to go to her, to run as fast as he can. But it’s as if everything is happening in slow motion. They are both covered in ash, she can see blood dripping down the side of his face, and he is coming closer and closer, but he is not coming to her fast enough.

He is inches away from her, bounding towards her, leaning forward, and he grabs her hand with all of his strength, and a smile spreads on Roop’s face as her shoulders relax.

But in the next instance, she hears a knife tearing through fabric. It sounds too close. And Zafar’s eyes go blank as he suddenly stops running and his hand slips from hers.

Roop can barely make it out, doesn’t want it to be true, but yes, Abdul has reached the pair, has not made in on the train, but yes, he is wielding a sword, the very same sword that is piercing Zafar straight through the chest.

Roop’s expression drops, but her hand remains limply outstretched. Zafar is watching her, somehow still standing on his own two feet, but Abdul is quick to turn him around and slice through him again and again. Roop is powerless to stop it, unable to do anything except sink to the floor and watch the blood spread further across Zafar’s white tunic. She can’t bring herself to count how many times it happens. She can feel her happiness, her soul itself, being sucked out of her body along with Zafar’s out of his own.

Abdul tosses Zafar to the ground, and his body spins as his falls, his head in her direction. He is still breathing, but barely, and it feels like a century passes as he watches her, watches the train move further away with her on it, and there is comfort in knowing that she will be safe, she will be okay, even if he will not be.

But Roop is so far from any of these feelings now. Her chest aches and cracks, her heart hurts in its cavity, she can physically feel it being smashed to pieces as she moves further and further from her love, the tiniest of smiles spreading on his face as the light leaves his eyes and the life in him leaves his body. He is motionless, a speck in the night, and she can barely make him out anymore when the station disappears from view and the tears finally come.

_ No _ , she thinks over and over again.  _ He was so close. We were so close. _

It’s a waterfall, it’s a tsunami, as she leans against the doorway of the cabin, she curls her knees up to her chest and shakes as she cries and cries. It feels like there is a brick in her chest, it hurts so badly. There might as well be one. There is no use for her heart now. Her beloved, the one man who she has ever loved, is gone, gone from this earth never to return to her, and when this finally sinks in, the world itself comes crashing down around her, like the buildings that collapsed in the flames. She has nothing, he left her alone with nothing, he left her all alone here. She is destroyed, she is empty, she is nothing without him.

So she screams. She screams for him to come back to her, to question the universe of why he has to leave her, why they had to take him from her. She screams in anguish, in the deepest kind of pain and sadness she has ever felt in her life. She screams for everything they had, everything they could have had, everything they could have been. She screams for him. Everything she does now, everything she’s ever done, is for him.

She is still screaming when she finds herself in a room. Hot, still, but soft. There is a softness surrounding her, and she thrashes at the softness, confused and overwhelmed, even though she’s stopped screaming. She grabs at it. Bed. She’s lying in a bed. She looks around. A bedroom. Makes sense. But who’s? Hers? Her mind is racing. She’s been here before, but not often. She holds the bedspread close to her, and it’s almost too soft against her bare body. Bare. She is bare. Why is she bare? She doesn’t usually sleep bare. Why is she sleeping bare? Who took her clothes? What did she do?

And there are hands in her hair and on her skin and a deep voice calling her name, frantic, panicked, and why, who, what does he want? All these thoughts happen in fractions of a second, and she whips her head towards the sound, terrified of what she will find.

Zafar. He is here. He is safe. He is also naked, she quickly observes. But they are together. And he is looking at her with fear and concern, his hands pulled back at her reaction, but one gently comes forward again to lightly touch her face.

“Roop,” he says gently, but laced with worry. “What happened? You were shaking and screaming so much, what did you dream about?”

Dream. It was a dream. She holds his wrist as his fingers stroke over her cheek, push her hair back from her face. She runs a hand through the top of her hair, shaking, even more so when it comes back red. She feels the substance between her fingers. Pure powder. She touches the top of her head, her eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. Pats all over until her fingers touch her part, the top of her forehead. Sindoor.

She pulls her hand back in surprise, but there it is, the ring on her finger. Zafar’s ring, that he created especially for her.

She is married to him. They are together. And he is alright.

He is more than alright, his hand snakes into her hair, and when she looks up at him, he is still concerned, but there is love buried deep, and she shakes again, tears rapidly brimming in her eyes, and he pulls her closer, and she collapses against him, heaving sobs pouring out of her. He holds her tight, this hand continuing to move through her hair, against the back of her head as the other rubs her back. He shushes her, whispers to her that it was a dream, that he is here, there is nothing to fear anymore.

“But it was so real,” she counters, broken. “You were so close, and you were brutally attacked, and you were murdered, and the world lost you, and I lost you.” The last few words fade as she is forced to relive it, burying her face deeper into Zafar’s neck and holding him with all of her strength.

“But I wasn’t,” he whispers with a smile. “I made it out alive,  _ we _ made it out alive, and we are together, and we are married, and we are going to live a beautiful life together.”

She breathes him in, nods frantically, and pulls away from him only to grab his head and kiss him hard. He laughs into it, locking his hands behind her back and pressing her body against his. She smiles, finally, and he wipes her tears when they separate.

“I love you,” she says, and she still sounds small and broken, but she gently rolls them over so her head is resting on his chest. “Don’t ever leave me,” she begs, holding his waist. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

He chuckles, snakes an arm around her shoulders and presses his lips to the top of her head. “Never,” he whispers. “I swear.”

She breathes out at this, still smiling. And she eventually grows quiet and still and peaceful. But Zafar watches her as her chest rises and falls evenly in sleep. She only shifts through the night to bring herself closer to him, as if this closeness is never enough to satisfy her. His hands gently card through her hair, his lips remaining near her forehead, taking her in, taking it all in.

She is here. He is here with her. She is his. He is hers. They are together. She is so beautiful. And he is so lucky. And for once, the universe has aligned itself in his favor. And he will be eternally grateful for this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, please don’t attack me for any misinformation regarding divorce in India in the 40s. I completely understand that none of it may be accurate at all, and I tried to do some research, but the legal jargon got lost on me, and this is my story anyway, I can do what I want.
> 
> I thrive off of validation, so please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed. Thank you so much for reading.


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